


it's not that hard: hold your hand out and shake

by royalwisteria



Series: in all the universes, it will be you [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, High school teachers AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:52:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1860417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royalwisteria/pseuds/royalwisteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy's a new counselor at his old high school.</p><p>*previously a single fic, I have decided to separate the chapters just in case I want to add to the universe, but the series will be the same: first meetings</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's not that hard: hold your hand out and shake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy's a new counselor at his old high school.

Bellamy both loved and hated high school to extreme degrees, much like most of his current contemporaries. As he steps through the front doors, students scattered loosely around the front steps for summer school, he remembers leaving this building seven years ago and feeling so grateful he’d never have to come here again. Best laid plans of mice and men: now he works here as a counselor. He’s not sure in the least how this happened.

The hallways smell different from his memories of the building and the lockers are different colors and they all have locks now. The floor is clean, most likely just because it’s the summer and there are fewer kids to mess the cleanliness up. He used to be one of those kids, he recalls with a fond, nostalgic smile. He would leave his classes the moment the bell rang and crumple assignments into balls and toss them at his friends. He shed trash like water.

The seven years that passed make him double check the map that had been provided with other materials detailing his position further. He’s to check in at reception first, but that’s if he can find where the damn office is.

On his way, Bellamy passes more students. They look so much younger than he remembers being and it’s a bitter reminder that he’s no longer young and carefree as he once was; his first semester at the local college had kicked his ass, but it wasn’t until he was declaring his major his sophomore year that he realized just how _lost_ he was, how he had no direction or dreams or any sort of hope for his life.

That’s part of why he’s here. He wants to prevent that and the self-destructive spiral he had until his own counselor at college had picked him up. He wants to prevent future Bellamy’s.

The reception office looks the same; it’s the same dark desk, same old-school PC, full of picture frames he can only see the back of, pens and pencils littered over papers and a receptionist clattering at the keyboard.

“Excuse me,” he says, standing at the man’s desk. “I’m here to see the principal.”

He glances at him then back to the PC, still typing. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Um, I wasn’t aware I needed one. I’m the new counselor here.”

The typing stops and he finally turns to give him a look over. “So you’re Bellamy Blake.”

“Yes, I am.”

The receptionist hums, still staring at him. “I’ll inform Principal Jaha you’re here.”

“Thanks.”

He picks up the phone and has a quick discussion with Jaha and before long Jaha’s door is opening.

“It’s good to meet you,” Jaha says with an extended hand. “Your recommendations glowed about your dedication.”

Bellamy smiles and extends his hand. “I was a troubled student myself and I want to help all I can.”

Jaha smiles softly, like he’s remembering Bellamy being sent to see him all the time all those years ago, and then gestures for him to enter his office. “I was just talking with one of your new colleagues. You might remember her; you both happen to be alumni.”

“Who is it?” He asks as he enters the office and sees a blonde already sitting turning to look at him. She looks familiar, but he can’t quite place who she is.

She stands gracefully, her pencil skirt making Bellamy swallow. “I’m Clarke Griffin,” she murmurs politely with an extended hand.

“Bellamy Blake,” he introduces himself shaking her hand. Clarke’s hand is small and her skin is much paler than his even with her tan. “It’s good to meet you.”

“You two are our two newest counselors, so I hope you’ll get along well,” Jaha says, and it takes effort for Bellamy to rip his eyes from Clarke’s blue eyes to nod at Jaha.

“I’m sure we will,” Clarke says and Bellamy hopes he’s not mistaken to hear a bit of warmth in her voice. “Is it okay for me to take him to our new offices?”

“Oh, yes, please. That would be wonderful. Thanks, Clarke.”

Clarke moves past him, and she’s close enough for him to inhale the sweet jasmine of her perfume. “We’ll talk later, then?” He asks Jaha, who’s already sitting down at his desk and scribbling on something.

“Yes, of course.”

He nods in thanks before he follows Clarke, who was half-turned while waiting for him. When their eyes meet, she smiles widely; he hopes he’s not imagining the flirtatious glint to that smile. “So you’re Bellamy Blake.”

Bellamy frowns as he follows her out of reception, the receptionist following them with his eyes. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

Her smile falters momentarily. “Well, no, not exactly. I’ve just heard a lot about you.”

They’re walking down the halls, her kitten heels clacking on the tiled floor. He rubs the back of his neck as they turn the first corner. “Hopefully they’re good things.”

She pauses and Bellamy takes a few steps past her before he realizes. “Most of them were bad,” she says crossing her arms and lifting her head in a challenge. It’s a very attractive look on her, Bellamy has to admit.

He winces. “My bad track record is longer than my good one.”

Clarke looks amused by his statement. “You don’t remember me.”

“Should I?”

Her mouth twists with— something, he doesn’t know what. “No, I guess not. It’s just— we went to school together. I remember you. You were quite famous.”

He turns away from her, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Sorry,” he mutters and he hears the click of her heels again.

“Nothing to apologize for,” she says briskly as she passes him with a squeeze of his shoulder. He doesn’t imagine her hand lingering there. “It’s what you do from now that matters.”

As he watches her hips sway as she continues walking, he realizes that this is the same exact advice that his counselor in undergrad had given him. Then he has another realization— “Griffin?” He calls, jogging lightly after her. “Does your dad happen to be Jake Griffin?”

 


End file.
